Sleepover
by trufflemores
Summary: Because early Dalton Klaine is adorable, even when Klaine isn't quite "Klaine" yet. Takes place during Kurt's first few weeks at Dalton before Blaine and he are in any sort of formal relationship. Lots of snuggles. Possibly part of a series. Pre-Klaine. COMPLETE.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

The first nights at Dalton were the hardest.

After living alone with his dad for years, the sudden influx of noise from all sides as boys romped around (usually at all hours, although noticeably less after curfew) kept him from finding that state of mixed relaxation and readiness that enabled him to sleep. He felt like an outsider thrust unexpectedly into a fraternity, unable to escape the excitement that buzzed just underneath the surface of life at Dalton after hours. Maybe it was the constant confinement to ties and blazers that made the contrast seem more pronounced, or maybe it was the Warblers themselves generating most of the energy with their impromptu practices unregulated by daytime expectations.

Either way, the adjustment took more out of Kurt than he was willing to admit, even to his dad. He missed his quiet nightly routines, unwinding from the stresses of the day alone in his room without anyone who might care to barge in unexpectedly. He didn't _mind _being included, but he missed having time to himself, and keeping a welcoming smile on his face and a can-do attitude in place regardless of the hour was exhausting. He missed home-cooked meals and having the supplies readily on hand to make them. He missed being able to wander downstairs for a mug of warm milk without fear of being caught and penalized for being out after curfew.

He missed _home._

And as amazing as Dalton was, the blazers, the grounds, even the Warblers themselves, it didn't feel like home to him.

Two knocks on the door startled him from his morose thoughts as he peeled himself off the bed - careful not to knock over the papers that he'd set out to work on - and sidled over to it, some of the tension easing from his shoulders as it swung open and revealed a distinctly disheveled-looking Blaine.

"Hey, Stranger," he greeted cheerfully, a satchel tucked over one arm and a crumpled pillow under the other, hair freed from its normal heavy layering of gel (and curling exquisitely in so many directions, Kurt's fingertips twitched with a sudden and nearly irrepressible urge to _touch_) and smile wide and warm as he gestured at the door. "I thought maybe we could study together for a change? Nathan kicked me out because I wouldn't stop singing Duran Duran." His grin was so full of amusement that Kurt doubted that the argument had had any heat whatsoever, an almost-visible head-shaped indentation on the pillow confirming his suspicions as he blinked stupidly at Blaine before stepping back to let him inside. "So, your roommate's not around?" he asked, depositing his satchel on the nearest chair by the desk as he looked around.

"I don't have a roommate," Kurt reminded him, shutting the door behind him and forcing himself not to stare _too _openly at the tantalizingly well-defined slope of Blaine's back underneath his navy pajamas as Blaine idled into the room, pausing in front of Pavarotti's cage and turning to face him.

There was a beat when Kurt thought that he might say something like _I'm sorry, _which would have been bad because it might have caused the emotions straining against Kurt's dubious hold to break free. He wasn't lonely - far from it - but he felt a twinge of unhappiness deep in his stomach as he looked around his little empty room and realized how different it was from home. Thankfully the moment passed as Blaine sat down on Kurt's bed without preamble, patting the space beside himself invitingly as he swung his socked feet playfully.

"I _do _have to study," Kurt warned, approaching the bed and suppressing a sigh at the mound of work that he still had to do.

Blaine tilted his head to one side, a wry smile crossing his lips as he said, "I know. I just know that studying together makes everything a little less boring." Standing, he retrieved his bag from the chair and brought it back to the bed, sitting cross-legged in the center with his pillow and waiting for Kurt to join him.

"I don't think Nate can _actually_ kick you out of your own dorm room," Kurt said at last, joining him on the bed as Blaine beamed with barely repressed delight. He quickly made himself comfortable on his stomach, pillow tucked underneath his chest as he held up a worn copy of _Pride and Prejudice. _Kurt resisted the urge to bury his fingers in his hair as he sat cross-legged beside him, pulling his history book onto his lap to distract himself.

And the thought of imminent failure _was _enough to keep his thoughts on his reading for a time. He'd already been a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of work that the teachers at Dalton expected. While it was refreshing to actually be _challenged _by an assignment rather than numbed with boredom, he wasn't sure if the combined stress from a new school and strange _lack _of stress from seeing Karofsky every day was doing wonders for his complexion. God only knew how he hadn't managed to break out (his rigorous skin care routine, of course; not that Kurt hadn't needed to spend extra time on it to ensure perfection).

Letting his gaze wander as the French Revolution got underway, he couldn't help but notice the way that Blaine's chest rose and fell evenly beside him. He seemed utterly absorbed in his reading, shoulder muscles bunching with the occasional twitch before he stilled, captivated.

It was then, after several long moments determinedly _not _staring at Blaine's ass out of the corner of his eye, that Kurt noticed that Blaine had face-planted in his pillow, one hand still loosely grasping the book hanging over the edge of the bed as he snored softly into the pillow itself. Hardly daring to breathe for fear of waking him, Kurt stayed still for ten torturous seconds before reaching over and, unable to resist, gently prying the book from his fingers. Blaine twitched again in his sleep, fingers flexing as though he might wake before he curled both arms around his pillow, undisturbed in his repose.

Afraid to push his luck and equally reluctant to wake him, Kurt let out a soft _oof _as he shifted, his legs prickling with discomfort as the blood circulated properly through them once more. He hadn't even realized how much time had passed until he glanced over at his clock and saw that it was almost ten, a full two hours since Blaine's unplanned arrival.

Deciding that he had no choice _but _to wake him if he wanted him to make it back in time for curfew, Kurt reached over and let his fingers run across Blaine's back instead of his shoulder as he called softly, "Blaine?"

No response - unless another barely audible snore counted. Kurt kept rubbing his back unthinkingly, fascinated by the warm, smooth fabric of his shirt and the doubtless equally appealing skin underneath it. Keeping thoughts of Blaine shirtless firmly to himself, Kurt cleared his throat and said again, "Blaine, wake up."

It took three more tries - and a couple gentle shakes - to rouse him, lifting his head from the pillow and mumbling a response that vaguely resembled "Hm."

"I think it's time for bed, B," Kurt said, a light, almost teasing edge to his voice as Blaine smacked his lips softly and let out another vague "hm" sound before sitting up carefully.

"'kay," he mumbled, and that was all the warning that Kurt had before he was shuffling up beside him, curling both arms around his waist and letting out a long, slow _hmmm _that made Kurt's ears turn red and his heart race as Blaine nuzzled his chest slowly.

Through the thin fabric of his own white shirt and navy pants, Blaine's warm, cuddly weight was almost unbearably acute. Kurt hadn't even so much as _hugged _Blaine for more than a handful of seconds, the sudden and unexpectedly wonderful press of his cheek against Kurt's belly making him feel inexplicably safe. He couldn't help but bring his hand up to run it through Blaine's curls a few times experimentally, knowing that he was pushing the boundaries of their friendship (and God, he didn't dare jeopardize it) and still keenly aware of the way that Blaine relaxed underneath his touch, happy and sated.

It seemed strange to Kurt that anyone - even Blaine - could be so comfortable around him. He was so used to being a pariah that the implicit trust was more than he could have expected from him.

There was something sweet about being trusted so easily and naturally that it didn't require long, drawn out contracts about where the lines were drawn and how much he could demand of their friendship. It simply was and would be, so long as Kurt did nothing to disturb it. Maybe it was just Blaine's natural friendliness showing, but it made Kurt feel more at ease, more at _home._

Deciding that he could let curfew go a little longer, Kurt shuffled back against the headboard until he was comfortable, settled down with his history book in a way that didn't disturb Blaine's position, and focused on the happiness that was slowly building in his chest, the warm contentment that he was _there._

Maybe Dalton wasn't perfect. But being with Blaine, Kurt was quickly coming to find, _was._


End file.
